


Sleepless Night

by Freedoms_Champion



Series: Serpent Scales, Sigiled Skin [7]
Category: The Death Gate Cycle - Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman
Genre: Alfred works so much, Fantasizing, Fluff, Haplo might be finally accepting his feelings, Late Night Conversations, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:01:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26704897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Freedoms_Champion/pseuds/Freedoms_Champion
Summary: After jolting out of a nightmare, Haplo knows he won't get back to sleep for a long time. Rather than stay in bed, he gets up to move around for a while.Alfred is still up working. Bit by bit, the sound of his quill chases the fears away.
Relationships: Haplo/Alfred Montbank
Series: Serpent Scales, Sigiled Skin [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1764100
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	Sleepless Night

**Author's Note:**

> I am so, so sorry for how long this has been. I've finally got the bug back, so with luck I'll be able to end the slow burn and get these crazy people together!
> 
> Thanks so much for your patience, hope you enjoy, and have a wonderful day!

Phantom pain slashed across Haplo’s heart rune, waking him from a nightmare of evil red eyes. Gasping, he sat up and reached for the dog. Instead of a cold nose bumping against his hand, he found nothing, and the unreasonable panic mounted. A warm weight lifted from his ankle and he caught the glint of eyes looking at him with concern from the end of his bed. Haplo let out a long breath and the dim light from his runes died out.

Of course, the dog hadn’t been right under his hand. His dog was gone, had never really been there in the first place. The real dog he’d gotten to replace the manifestation of his better nature wasn’t an extension of himself and couldn’t be relied on to comfort him every time.

Haplo got out of bed, trying to ignore the shaking in his hands and rubbed the dog’s head. Pulling on a robe, he left the room to try pacing out the jitters before going back to sleep.

Golden light and rustling paper drew him to the main room of the little house. It served as a space for entertaining, eating, and Alfred’s studies. Haplo occasionally made use of the desk in the corner to organize his personal notes, but for the most part, he had left that duty to Alfred. The Sartan enjoyed the job so much, after all.

Standing in the doorway, Haplo could see him sitting at the desk, head bowed over a sheaf of papers, quill scratching steadily. Alfred’s white hair spilled nearly to his collar now, since it had grown back in and the brown tips flittered back and forth with the small movements of his head. He must be detailing rune structures again, Haplo concluded.

He curled up in the oversized armchair that was his favorite, resting his head on the arm so that he could watch Alfred work, and wondered how long it would take the Sartan to notice him. In the wake of his nightmare, he didn’t feel ready to speak.

It happened so often since they had closed the Seventh Gate that Haplo almost looked forward to quiet nights of listening to Alfred’s quill, free from fear that something horrible was about to attack him or the expectations of his people, looking to him for answers and decisive action. In these quiet moments, Haplo could almost imagine a future where he didn’t have to hide his feelings for Alfred.

That future had the potential to be amusing, Haplo couldn’t helping thinking. He’d stand behind Alfred and smooth his hair back to clear his eyes. The Sartan would jump and swear, possibly upending his inkwell. Haplo would laugh and apologize without much sincerity and kiss Alfred until he stopped frowning.

Deep in his fantasy, Haplo didn’t notice when the quill stopped.

“Was it the nightmare again?” Alfred asked.

Haplo pushed himself up in surprise, instinctively freeing both arms to defend himself if he had to. Seeing Alfred’s eyes grow concerned, he rubbed his neck and looked away.

“I thought I’d keep you company, Sartan,” he replied. “If you aren’t going to sleep, I can’t.”

He cursed inwardly. Stupid and careless, suggesting that he was uneasy if Alfred wasn’t where he was supposed to be.

“I’m sorry, Haplo,” Alfred said, but there was a breath of something like amusement in his voice. “Once I’ve finished with these rune structures, I’ll go right to bed. I promise.”

Now he was definitely mocking him. Haplo wanted to grind his teeth in irritation, but a grin kept getting in the way. Stupid Sartan, playing along and making him have silly daydreams.

Claws clicked on the floor and the dog trotted over to Haplo’s chair. He devoted his attention to vigorously scratching the animal’s ears to avoid his feelings running away with him.

Alfred resumed writing, but Haplo waited to relax again until he was sure the Sartan was completely absorbed. He could tell, even without looking, because Alfred clicked his tongue absently and made vague noises while sorting through his papers. The little sounds clearly showed his mind was speeding along and didn’t register anything but the work.

Haplo watched him, marveling at how Alfred’s clumsy hands could reproduce the flowing rune structures without smudging them or knocking over his ink. His mild blue eyes, always holding an apology, sharpened until their intensity nearly matched what Haplo saw in his own, on the rare occasions he looked in a mirror.

This was the other side of Alfred, he mused. Confident, intelligent, and unapologetic, Coren lived inside Alfred and showed himself more and more often now that Alfred remembered him. Haplo supposed it should have felt strange, knowing his friend was split into different sides, but Coren felt as familiar as Alfred. No doubt it was an effect of the bond the Death Gate had given them.

By the time Alfred finished working, Haplo had forgotten the nightmare. The fear of the dragon-snakes and what they had done to him had faded, swallowed by the scratching quill and Alfred’s nearly musical sounds of concentration.

Sleepily, Haplo wondered if it had been a spell. Coren was capable of whispering a Sartan rune or two of peace under cover of the absent hum of concentration. Still, he wasn’t going to argue with a little peace.

Shedding his robe, Haplo slid back under his covers. His dog jumped back onto the end of the bed and rested its head on his foot. Only one thing prevented Haplo from falling back asleep. The fears in the darkness crept back without Alfred’s quill to block them out.


End file.
